


Little Birds in Little Cages

by peachesnmoons



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: All drug use directly mentioned in story is monitored under health professionals!, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Anxiety Disorder, Bipolar Disorder, Bullying, Depression, Eating Disorders, I do not like the word mental institution so ill be referring to it as a psychiatric hospital thx, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Illness, Panic Attacks, Schizophrenia, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, You have a mental illness! I have a mental illness! Everyone has a mental illness!!!, the gang's all here and they're all queer and mentally unstable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 05:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8274022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachesnmoons/pseuds/peachesnmoons
Summary: Psychiatric hospitals are not a place to fall in love, Jack Zimmermann has to remind himself at least sixteen times a day. His new roommate is the opposite of everything Jack is, and he isn't pleased. At least for the first twelve hours that is. It turns out they have more in common than he thought.  *Please read all tags and Author's note before reading any chapter of this story. Stay healthy and safe, loves.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: READ THIS IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY MENTAL ILLNESS, MENTIONS OF SELF-HARM, SUICIDE, HOSPITALIZATION, OR EATING DISORDERS  
> *Chapter 1 contains: vivid descriptions of panic attacks, suicide attempt, self-harm (scratching), slight dissociation
> 
> This story is very heavy and contains many triggers.  
> As someone who just got out of an inpatient program, I'm working through my experiences and my own diagnosis by writing about it and so far I've found it very cathartic.  
> HOWEVER, CERTAIN EVENTS IN CHAPTERS CAN BE TRIGGERING  
> Please take care of yourselves and do not read this if you are easily triggered by any of the above mentioned triggers.

It starts with his hands shaking.

Jack Zimmermann is in his bedroom at the Haus, sitting on his bed with his back against the wall. He’s reading a book and if you had asked him at that moment if he felt stressed at all, he would have honestly told you no.

An hour or two passes, and Jack continues to turn the pages. One moment he’s reading about the role of the navy in the War of 1812, and then the words are blurring and the pages are fluttering. His hands shake violently as he places the book on the bed and presses his hands into his eyes. He attempts to take a deep breath, yet no matter how hard he tries to breathe deeply, his lungs have shrunk and his chest feels like a small cage.

Jack hopes that someone is in the next room over, and with the loud wheezing he’s making trying to catch his breath someone should have definitely heard him by now.

He knows there’s a bottle of Lorazepam for emergencies sitting on his desk and he gathers all the strength he can to grab at the orange bottle. He slips off the bed and bangs his knee on the floor, but manages to get close enough to the desk to haul himself into the chair and look for the pill bottle.

It’s sitting next to his lamp and the light is making his head throb. Jack’s heart is jumping wildly in his chest and his breaths are short and shallow. He reaches for the bottle, and tries to get his numb, trembling hands to take off the cap. The lid pops off and falls onto the floor somewhere and Jack’s vision is turning fuzzy.

He knows he’s supposed to take one pill first. He dry swallows the small bitter pill and waits the five minutes his psychiatrist told him too.

Jack is so dizzy and his whole body is shaking now. Not bothering to check the clock, Jack grabs his water bottle and swallows down what he thinks are two more pills and sits back in the chair and waits.

Lorazepam has always made him sleepy so when his lids start to feel heavy, he stands up to head back into bed. Jack’s right leg gives out on him and he finds himself staring at the ceiling not sure how he got there. The floor doesn’t feel too bad, and Jack decides he could just take his nap right here. He’s drifting away into sleep when something inside him makes him open his eyes.

“ _This is what happened last time.'"_

Dread washes Jack’s body cold, but he’s so weak he can’t gather any energy to stand up and the temptation to shut his eyes is getting too much. All he hears is his rapid heartbeat in his ears as he tries to roll himself in a sitting position, but however much medicine he took is already seems to be affect.

There’s a quiet knock on his door and a hesitant, “Jack?”, and if Jack weren’t on the verge of passing out he’d cry out of sheer joy that someone found him. He tries to make a noise for them to come in, but all that comes out is a hoarse groan.

“Jack are you okay, man?” Johnson says.

The door swings open as John Johnson peeks inside the room. The last thing Jack remembers before falling unconscious is yelling and assurances that everything was going to be okay.

* * *

The consult room is freezing and Eric Bittle wishes he remembered to bring his jacket inside, but he had packed it away inside his bag that the technicians were searching at that very moment.

Eric rubs his chilled hands up and down his legs and looks around the sparsely decorated room. There’s four chairs in total, but he’s occupying the only one since he came here without his parents. The doctor came in and out, but hadn’t done anything but hand him more paperwork to fill out.

Boston Springs resides in Brookline, Massachusetts and is impossible to see from the street if you stand outside of it from the number of trees surrounding the walkways. The weather the day Eric walks up with a duffel bag and a small backpack is much cooler than a late summer day in Georgia; a balmy 78 degrees. Boston Springs is also a psychiatric hospital. In fact, it’s one of the best. And that's why he's here.

The door to the room opens and Eric looks up to see a small woman in blue scrubs staring at him.

“What are you doing there, Eric?” she asks in a gentle voice.

Confused, Eric looks down to see what she could mean. He sees welts with small streaks of broken capillaries welling up on his left arm where he’d been unconsciously scratching at it again. He pulls his sweatshirt down to cover the marks.

“Nothing, Ma’am,” he replies and smiles.

The technician leads him down a brightly lit hallway and scans an id to get through the doors. As Eric walks through them, they immediately close and lock behind him and Eric can feel panic rising in his throat. He doesn’t say anything as she leads him into a sunny room with many doors.

There’s one large desk near the locked entrance with a couple of people in green scrubs writing viscously into binders. They go in and out of a door nearby that unlocks with a grinding noise when they show their id and they disappear in there and come out with cups and a pitcher of water. Further away from the door are chairs that look much comfier than the chairs in the consult room and a tv. Large windows overlook a yard with tall trees and walking paths that Eric can see patients milling about and sitting off to the side of smoking cigarettes. There are doors on either side of the room with names on them, but no one else is in the room except the people in the scrubs and Eric. It’s all so overwhelming, his throat suddenly feels too tight. The woman leaves him in this 'dayroom' as she called it and walks right back out the door.

“You’re Eric, right? Eric Bittle?”

Eric turns at his name and sees one of the people in green scrubs smiling welcoming at him from her place at the desk. She beckons him with her hand to come closer and he feels his legs move automatically.

“I know it’s a little overwhelming,” she says quietly and Eric nods solemnly, “but it’ll feel easier after the first day. Want me to go over some of the stuff here? We can go sit in those comfy chairs by the window?” She smiles and Eric feels his panic die down slightly. He nods once more.

Following the woman to the windows, they sit in chairs facing each other and Eric lets her speak about the hospital and the unit he’s staying in.

Eric’s in the Beacon unit and his room that he’s sharing with some other patient is currently being cleaned. The nurses wear green scrubs and they handle his medications and anything about how he’s feeling while the technicians wear blue scrubs and are in charge of him throughout the day. His current technician, the small woman named Rachel that had brought him down here, had gone to fetch him a lunch tray so he could eat alone in here while the rest of the unit ate in the cafeteria which Eric found himself extremely thankful for.

The nurse, who finally introduced herself as Leah, starts to explain the daily schedule which Eric had seen posted on the walls. She explains something about the desk up front, also known as the nurses’ station, and he finds himself zoning out to stare out the window behind Leah’s head as roaring fills his ears he’s unable to focus back on the conversation. So he drifts.

He’d found himself so spaced out that when a hand grips his left wrist, Eric flinches and almost smacks Leah in the face. An apology is on his lips when he realizes Leah is focused on the inside of his wrist where Eric had been unconsciously scratching again and now blood is dripping like honey onto his pants.

“Eric, answer me,” Leah prompts and the roaring subsides in Eric’s ears for moment before he realizes she's talking to him.

“W-what?” Eric stutters hoarsely.

“How often do you scratch yourself?” She asks again, her voice firm.

“I-I don’t know?” he answers, cringing at how tiny his voice sounds.

Her brow furrows and she slowly lays his arm back down into his lap. “Do not touch that arm, Eric Bittle. Understand?”

He nods slowly and Leah walks quickly to the door that unlocks with a horrible grinding noise, that Eric can now see the sign over it that says “MED ROOM”.

Eric looks down at this wrist and sees one deep scratch and three smaller scratches all leaking blood down his arm. He tries to take a deep breath, but his chest is too tight and nothing floods into his lungs.

Whether it had been a moment or minutes, Leah comes back with alcohol wipes, a large Band-Aid, and two large pieces of medical tape. She wipes the blood and the cuts with the wipes and while they sting, Eric doesn’t flinch. The thick Band-Aids are wrapped around the scratches before she covers both his left and right inner forearms with medical tape.

When she finishes, Leah holds his hands and pats the softly. “There! No more scratching, okay? And if you get the urge to scratch or harm yourself come to me immediately. Alright?”

Her words sink into Eric like stones. His chest is still too tight and seeing the tape on his arms looks too surreal. His hands are cold and shaking under Leah’s warm and steady palms, and suddenly there’s tears falling onto his pants and he can hear loud, wheezing sobs.

Someone’s rubbing at his back and when he goes to take a breath, Eric realizes he’s the one sobbing.

He can’t take a breath and his wheezes get louder and his sobs cut off with choking sounds and he realizes he’s having another panic attack. The hand on his back slowly pushes his head down towards his legs and he lets himself be maneuvered into a position that opens up his lungs.

Minutes and minutes pass by before Eric can finally take a shaky, shallow breath without feeling the edges of his vision go dark. He lifts his head and Leah’s still holding his hand and rubbing at his back soothingly. There’s a tray of food sitting on the side table near the window.

It’s still a couple more minutes until Eric can get himself under control. Finally, his hands stop shaking and he takes in a lungful of air that doesn’t sound so wheezy. His eyes are swollen and he can feel how red his face is, but Leah isn’t judging him and he feels a tiny bit better knowing he can cry and there’s no one here to tell him to “man up”.

“How about you try eating something? Have you eaten anything at all today?” Leah asks.

Eric shakes his head and Leah brings the tray over and sets it on his lap. It’s still hot and there’s a piece of chicken, mashed potatoes, a small salad, a bowl of cut fruit, a cup of water and a cup of apple juice. His stomach growls a little and under Leah’s eye, he picks at this and that until she’s satisfied and leaves him with the cup of water with a reminder to make sure to keep the lid on at all times.

Sitting back into the chair, Eric pulls his sleeves down over the medical tape and hopes he doesn’t look too much a mess. Another technician, a large Asian man who introduces himself as Aiden, finally leads him into a small room just off from the comfy chairs near the window. There’s two beds, both impeccably made that Eric isn’t sure which is his for a moment until Aiden points to the one on the left that faces the back wall. Sitting on the bed is all his clothes in two paper sacks and a pink bucket with all his hygiene products in it. There’s a small desk just beyond the bed near the bathroom door that has his books (paperback only) and the journal this therapist told him to bring (no spiral bound).

Aiden throws a towel over the door and tells Eric the doors aren’t allowed to be fully closed, but for privacy putting the towel can help you close the door as much as possible without it shutting all the way. Eric thanks him for his help and secretly wishes he could bake something for all the nurses and techs here for their unending patience with him. 

Eric just hopes his roommate is just as patient.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Lardo: depressed artist by afternoon/night, desperate coffee hoarder by morning. Don't ask her about the bumps on her head.  
> Ransom: Sweet, anxious. Hard to believe he's almost 21 by his anxious personality. He also likes to shower three times a day. Don't touch him unless you're Holster. Holster is clean.  
> Holster: Big, buff, tall as hell. Also pressured by an industry as a child to be the best athlete he can be. Struggles with body dysmorphia, hates eating. Gentlest giant until you fuck with Ransom. Then he'll probably throw the closest thing, like a mini-pie.  
> Shitty: Yes, he's the naked guy in the lounge yelling at Steve for looking at Morgan's butt when she bent over. "How does it feel to have a man shouting and flashing his junk at you now, huh Steve?!" Manic best friend of Jack. Struggling with feeling out of control and over-medicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TRIGGER WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF SELF-HARM, MANIA, EATING DISORDER, PANIC ATTACK
> 
> Also Jack makes Bitty sad. Don't read if that makes you :(
> 
> Again contact me at alittlebittlethat.tumblr.com if you need any insight about content or if I messed up my warnings :/
> 
> I'm excited to share this y'all to be honest. The whole experience of writing this has been immensely relieving and it's gotten a lot of weight off my shoulders. I only very recently got out of my inpatient, which I based Boston Springs like very closely off of lol, so it's still kind of weighing on me and making adjusting back to life harder. 
> 
> Also, I don't know how many of you know the Brookline/Boston area, but I lived there for six months (you know before I had a mental breakdown and dropped out of my dream school to go home and suffer through my depression for another six months before finally getting help haha). I lived right on the edge of the two areas so I was frequently in Brookline and near Fenway, but I gotta say I LOVED Brookline. Way more trees and they had a Trader Joes. A little more private than the central Boston area and all the units are based off my favorite areas in Brookline. Coolidge Corner, Beacon Street, Chestnut Hill. I could go on, but I'll shut up now. If you visit Boston, but get tired of citycitycitycity go to Brookline. 
> 
> Up next: New arrivals in the Beacon Unit. A drug addict, a schizophrenic, another attempted suicide.

Jack hates his roommate.

Well, that’s not entirely true. Jack resents his roommate. His roommate got here this afternoon during lunch and all Jack can see is his faults.

His roommate is smaller than him, but not small for his age. He cowers when anyone over his height comes next to him and he cries without warning.

His roommate wears weird bandages on his arms that he’s very secretive about, so Jack assumes it’s all for attention. His roommate is very nice and is never anything but polite, but he skipped their first unit group therapy session that evening to talk to the Nurses, which frustrates Jack.

Basically, his roommate Eric Bittle is the opposite of Jack and he hates it.

It’s 5am and the techs are back to check their morning vitals and Jack sticks his arm out for the blood pressure cuff and lets them take his temperature, and he doesn’t say a word. When they get to Eric, there’s a pleasant exchange of good mornings and “How are the kids doing, Darrel? You mentioned little Reagan last night!” And Jack shoves his head under his pillow and wills his sleep aide to kick back in until breakfast at 7am. Of course, it doesn’t.

At 6am, Jack gives up and shuffles into the dayroom for coffee. He greets the nurses with a wave as they do a shift change from night to morning staff; they all know him and they all greet him warmly.

“Smoke break, guys!” The morning tech, Rachel, calls out to the few patients that have got up early enough to go outside in the early chill and smoke their nerves away.

Jack puts a lid on his coffee and goes to his room to set it on his desk and lace up his running shoes.

There’s a small rustle and Jack looks up to see Eric staring at him from under his extra four blankets he requested. Annoyance flares up in Jack and harshly he asks, “What?”

Eric’s eyes widen and he gives a small shake of his head. “Just didn’t know you smoked.” He says it in his honeyed-southern accent that makes Jack’s chest tight with frustration. He rolls his eyes slightly and sighs.

“I don’t,” He says and goes back to tying his shoes. “I’m going to jog on those paths further from the door where the smokers don’t go.”

Jack stands and grabs his beanie from the small closet near his bed and goes to join the group waiting to go outside. They wait for everyone who wants to go out trickle out of their rooms and Rachel does a headcount and is about to swipe her id when someone calls out from the back of the dayroom.

“Wait! I’ll be out in two shakes!”

Jack groans internally and shuts his eyes to count slowly to ten. By the time he finishes, Eric is standing off to the side of the small group, wearing his own running shoes and a warm jacket.

Rachel smiles and finally swipes her id to let them out and they follow her downstairs to the door that leads to the large enclosed yard.

There’s only one path away from the door where the smokers tend to hang around, so Jack decides to finally extend an olive branch and invite Eric to run with him since that’s obviously what he’s here to do as well.

In few strides, Jack’s standing just behind Eric so he softly taps his shoulder.

Eric flinches and jumps almost a foot into the air. He whirls around, his face so scared that Jack actually feels bad for a moment.

Jack clears his throat. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to run together.” He stares down at Eric who’s frozen in place. When Jack takes him in, he realizes he’s trembling like a leaf and his breath is coming in small wheezes. Almost exactly how Jack’s panic attacks start.

Immediately, Jack grabs Eric’s arm and pulls him down onto the ground into the dewy grass. “Hey, hey, I’m gonna count to breathe and count to ten and I want you to try to follow me, okay?”

Eric nods and makes a choking sound as he tries in vain to take a breath into lungs that won’t cooperate. Jack begins by inhaling and exhaling slowly, watching Eric as he tries to follow him but can’t get his lungs to exhale anything but shaky gasps.

“One,” Jack says in a hushed tone. Eric’s hand moves to grasp at Jack's and he squeezes, and Jack continues to breathe and count. When he reaches ten and Eric breaths are less shaky, he asks him to count with him.

“One,” they say together as they exhale their first breaths.

They finish and there’s a small group gathered just off to Jack’s left, their cigarettes lit but barely used. Rachel’s sitting just off to Eric’s side rubbing his back; Jack hadn’t even noticed her.

Eric closes his eyes and releases Jack’s hand. He rubs at his eyes and takes one more calming breath before turning back to Rachel. “I’m fine now, thank you,” he whispers to her and she smiles and gets up to scatter the crowd still in their pajamas with their slowly burning cigarettes.

The sleeves of Eric’s jacket had gotten pushed up in his panic and Jack now sees the bandages are gone and the angry, raw scratches across both Eric’s wrists. His stomach drops and he clears his throat. “I’m sorry if I scared you,” he starts.

A laugh bubbles out of Eric as he wipes at his eyes again. “Oh lord, you Canadians and your apologies. If people apologized every time they scared me, I’d never get a second alone.”

Relief washes down Jack’s neck like cold water. “So it wasn’t just me?”

“Oh naw, anyone taller than me, louder than me, bigger than me. They all scare me, it’s not just you, sugar.” Eric sighs and rests his chin on his hand.

“I’m still sorry,” Jack begins, but Eric waves his apology away, not wanting to hear it.

Jack goes to stand and realizes his sweatpants are soaked with dew. He turns to look at the damage, and Eric sees and giggles before smacking a hand over his mouth.

Jack smirks. “Your pants are soaked too, eh?”

Eric smiles and Jack reaches a hand out to help him up. Both of their pants are thoroughly soaked through and Rachel tries to call another tech to come down and get them to take them back to their room.

Jack crosses his arms waiting for the new tech when there’s a garbled message over the radio that Rachel narrows her eyes at.

“Sorry boys, you’ll have to wait until we all go back together there’s a situation on Coolidge unit.” She pockets her radio and goes to turn away.

“Wait,” Jack says, “Can you tell me the situation? I have a friend over there and I have a feeling its him.”

Rachel chews her lip and then finally gives in. “There’s a naked patient in another patient’s room yelling something about women’s bodies?”

Jack groans. “Shitty, of course.”

“I’m not allowed to confirm or deny that,” Rachel grins.

“I know,” Jack sighs. “Hopefully this situation doesn’t make him late to breakfast.”

Five minutes later, Rachel calls the end of the smoke break and everyone comes trickling back to the door.

A small girl wearing sunglasses and all black comes up to Jack and simply puts her forehead against his chest. She’s so much smaller than him, Jack’s amused.

“Hey Lardo,” he greets, “Get your coffee yet?”

Lardo flips him off in lieu of greeting and he pats her head. Eric’s standing off to the side of Jack staring quizzically at him. He mouths “Lardo?” at Jack who shakes his head in response and mouths back “Breakfast”.

Rachel leads them all inside and back upstairs and gives them a ten-minute warning until they leave for breakfast.

Jack and Eric immediately change their pants when they get inside; Jack changes by his bed and Eric goes into the bathroom. Jack can’t help but wonder if he's still too intimidating to Eric. It’s no fair for him to be terrified here when he’s here to get better. Everyone’s here to get better.

There’s a knock on his door, and Jack opens it to reveal Ransom and Holster, two very tall college aged guys that share the room next to Jack and Eric.

Justin “Ransom” Oluransi and Adam “Holster” Birkholtz were admitted for two totally different problems and had become faster friends than anyone the nurses had ever seen. They’d been admitted almost at the same time the day after Jack, who’d been here for six days. Holster seemed to know just how to calm Ransom out of his anxiety attacks and when to leave him alone, and Ransom knew exactly how to get Holster to eat even when he claimed he’d eaten during snack time (which was almost never true).

“Dude, I heard your new roommate had a breakdown in the yard just now,” Ransom says as he leans on the wall outside the room.

Jack walks out of the doorway to stand in front of the pair and narrows his eyes. “We literally just got back. And you can’t even see where we were from the windows.”

Holster shrugs. “Lard’s gave us a look and we knew.”

Rolling his eyes Jack pushes at Holster’s arm softly. “She went straight to you guys first thing, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, bro! Do you have like new panic attack healing powers now?” Ransom grins.

“If I do, come and see me next time you have one, yeah?” Jack shakes his head.

Holster shakes Ransom’s shoulders. “Bro, bro! Tell me you wouldn’t run straight to see Dr. Zimmermann, huh?”

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t run straight.” Ransom deadpans.

Holster howls and the nurses look up from their station across the room to make sure no one is hurt. Eric comes out of the bathroom at the commotion and peeks his head out of the doorway where Jack, Ransom, and Holster are all laughing near the windows. Seeing the three large men, Eric’s eyes widen and his face goes white, and Jack feels his stomach drop when Eric slips back into the room fast as lightning.

“Hey, Eric.” He calls and walks toward the doorway, past Ransom and Holster who abruptly stop laughing out of curiosity.

Eric’s sitting on his bed white-knuckled, clutching at the blankets as if it ground himself. He barely flinches when Jack walks in, but it’s enough to make Jack sit on his own bed and turn his shoulders in to make himself smaller.

“I know they’re big guys, but they won’t hurt you,” Jack says softly. Eric looks up set him with his wide eyes. “Really, they wouldn’t hurt you. They’re good guys.”

“Promise, dude,” Ransom says quietly from over the threshold. His hands are in his pockets and him and Holster are mirroring Jack’s body language to shrink themselves by hunching in slightly.

Eric doesn’t let up his grip on the blankets, but he nods slowly and looks from Jack to Ransom and Holster.

“Breakfast!” Rachel calls out from across the dayroom.

“Do you want to go with us?” Holster asks softly. He’s smiling and it’s not as warm as Ransom since his face is still slightly gaunt, but it’s genuine and Eric must see it too because he nods a little more firmly and finally stands from the bed.

They walk together to the doors leading out of the unit where the rest of the group has gathered and Lardo walks up to them holding two cups of coffee.

“Wow, doubling fisting the caffeine early today, Lards,” Holster remarks as they go through the doors led by Rachel.

“I’m going to chop off your head if you say anything else about my coffee habits, Birkholtz.” She says not bothering to look up at him.

Holster mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key behind her back and Eric chuckles a bit. He turns back to Lardo and opens his mouth, but she answers before he says anything.

“Larissa Duan. Call me Lardo, old nickname. If you’re going to ask, I’m here for depression and self-harm. I’m in room 230B and my roommate is Camilla Collins, the blonde girl that stayed behind back there to get her meds early. Yes, I really do love coffee this much, and No, I’m not like this all day.” She sips casually at one of the coffees and hands the other one to Jack who takes a sip of it before handing it back.

 Eric smiles. “I’m-

“Eric Bittle. Room 233A, roommates with Jack. You take your coffee with cream and sugar." She pauses and Eric opens his mouth to object when she interrupts. "Yes I saw you last night sneaking coffee past 3pm, don't lie. I don’t know what you’re here for, and only tell me if you’re comfortable, kid,” She turns her head to look at him and her eyes are sad for a moment before they turn back to calculating. “It takes a lot of guts to be here, so just remember you’re brave for even coming here, voluntary or not, okay?”

Her frankness seems to shock Eric and Jack watches as he turns his gaze down to his feet and worries at his bottom lip with his teeth. Jack takes the second coffee from Lardo, and she uses her free hand to hold Eric’s hand. He jumps slightly, but doesn’t recoil. It’s such a soft moment to see Eric’s face raw when someone is willingly touching him, that Jack looks away.

And good thing he did.

“Sir, you need to put your clothes on!”

Jack stops and looks down the hall towards the Coolidge unit where in the group lounge outside the doors is a man with long hair, standing naked on a couch.

Jack sighs and detours to walk towards the room and shouts a quick “I found him!” to his friends.

“Brah, pants are the most restrictive item in society,” the man lectures from the top of the couch he’s perched on, his sunglasses glinting in the soft light of the therapy room. “They’re like first place and right behind them is like handcuffs and bras.”

“Shits,” Jack says, just loud enough for the man to hear. Upon hearing his name, B. “Shitty” Knight turns to look at Jack, a huge grin splitting his face.

“My man! Hey Barb, do you see this beautiful Greek god of a man blessing us with his presence in our doorway?” Shitty jumps off the couch and walks towards Jack to pull him into a hug.

“Pants and shirt or no breakfast. You know the rules, Shitty.” Jack says firmly and ignores all the buts and wells that Shitty tries to use as an excuse.

Barbara, his tech who’s assigned to watch him all day on one-on-one, hands Jack Shitty’s pants who then hands them to Shitty. Grumbling as he pulls them on, Shitty then holds out his hand for his shirt which Jack also hands to him to.

“Want any shoes today?” Barbara asks.

“Nah, I’m all good Barbs,” Shitty says and starts walking toward the cafeteria with Jack and Barbara in tow.

Jack catches up to Shitty and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Nope,” Shitty says, popping the p of the word with a cheerful smile. “I read that book your dad sent you that you’d already read? Remember?”

Jack tries to remember but comes up blank. He shakes his head and Shitty scrunches his face in thought. “That book on political history?”

Pinching his nose, Jack takes a big breath. “You mean the Encyclopedia of US political history? The four thousand paged textbook?”

“Yep!” Shitty smiles. “Good read, bit dry in the middle, but oh boy started out pretty good. Not sure how I feel about the unfinished ending?”

Jack shakes his head and in spite of himself he grins. “So who was your favorite character?”

Barbara leads them into the cafeteria and they grab trays while Shitty shouts about Teddy Roosevelt’s progressive policies. Jack piles his plate with eggs and sausage, grabs a bowl of plain oatmeal and a bowl of raisin bran and finds an empty seat at a table where Lardo, Holster, Ransom, and Eric are already sitting.

When Shitty finally sits down next to Jack, his plate piled high with nothing but biscuits and bacon, he sips at his lemon-lime Gatorade and glares at Eric.

Eric looks confusedly at Jack and fidgets in his chair, not touching his food anymore.

“Shitty, use your words. Don’t just glare at people,” Jack sighs and pours milk into his cereal.

“Whoops sorry,” Shitty apologizes, but still looks at Eric with narrowed eyes. “Are you new? I feel like you’re new. But I’m also very lost about three fourths of the time, so there’s a small chance you’ve been here the whole time and I’m an asshole who’s been ignoring you.”

Eric picks up his fork and looks to Jack like he wants him to speak for him. Jack nods his head toward Shitty, and Eric sighs.

“I’m Eric Bittle. I got here just yesterday,” he finishes in a small voice.

“Woah,” Shitty says and drops his glass heavily on the table. All side conversations cease immediately. “You’re last name is Bitty?”

Eric furrows his brow. “No it’s Bittle.”

“I can't believe I know someone who's last name is Bitty.”

“I promise you, my last name has and always will be Bittle,” Eric says a little more firmly, his mouth set in a small frown.

Shitty grins and leans across the table to whisper at Eric. “Can I call you Bitty?”

Lardo rolls her eyes. “Just say yes. He’ll never shut up. Everyone has to have a nickname if you talk to Shitty.”

Eric looked around the table and stopped at Jack. “What’s your nickname?”

Before Jack could answer, Shitty leaned in front of Jack angrily to block Eric’s view of him. “He doesn’t get one because he’s lame. He’s the most boring person I know, guy doesn’t deserve a nickname” He shouts the last sentence and Jack can see Barbara roll her eyes at him from across the room as she scribbles something on her clipboard.

Jack pushes Shitty back into his chair. “You’re gonna get in trouble if you don’t calm down, Shits. Did you take your meds this morning?”

Shitty doesn’t meet Jack’s gaze and begins to shove biscuits in his mouth.

Lardo and Jack are now both glaring at Shitty.

“Shitty,” they begin in unison.

“No I didn’t,” Shitty finally says, his shoulders dropping slightly. “It makes me feel weird, like I’m a zombie and I like feeling happy like this!”

Lardo leans her arms on the table and looks him in the eye. “This isn’t happy, Shitty. This is mania. You’re not like this normally, remember? You just insulted Jack.”

Turning in his chair, Shitty looks brokenly at Jack. “Did I insult you?”

Jack flushes slightly and rubs at his neck. “Lardo’s making a big deal out of nothing. You didn’t say anything that bad.”

Lardo huffs. “It wasn’t that bad, no. But it wasn’t how he normally speaks to you. It was rude. You need to take your medication, Shitty. Are the nurses not making sure you take it every day?”

“If I say I don’t want to take it, they shrug and move to the next person. You know Coolidge is overcrowded? They don’t have time to force me to take my meds,” Shitty frowns and leans his elbow on the table and rests his chin in his head.

“I still say you should complain and transfer over to Beacon. It’s the smallest unit, we only have twelve people. Me, Camilla, Ransom, Holster, Jack, Eric, Mandy, and Jenny. And then four people are all discharging within the next two days. You know, that one guy with the weird moles, wheelchair dude who always does sick tricks, and those two girls with eating disorders are being transferred out? You could totally request to take one of their places, dude.”

Shitty chews thoughtfully on a piece of bacon and shrugs. “Nothing to lose if they say no again, I guess.”

Grinning, Lardo kicks his leg under the table. “Besides, if the nurses don’t make you take your meds, I’ll kick your butt until you’re begging for your Lithium and Zyprexa.”

Jack begins digging into his oatmeal when he catches part of Ransom and Holster’s conversation.

“Come on, Holtzy,” Ransom says quietly from across the table where he sits next to Eric. He pushes a plate of eggs and hash browns over toward Holster. “Just eat half of one of these, please. For me?”

Holster’s plate has only half a grapefruit and a plain yogurt. He’s touched neither and is sipping at a cup of coffee and not meeting Ransom’s eyes. Jack elbows him lightly.

“Eat at least the eggs, Holster. You need the protein.” Jack grabs the plate from the middle of the table and scrapes Ransom’s eggs onto the plate holding the sad-looking grapefruit.

He catches Eric’s eyes watching him as he’s spreads honey on top of his buttered biscuit. Feeling self-conscious and also aware that he’s drawing attention to Holster, Jack huffs. “You too, Bittle. You need to eat more protein.”

Eric’s mouth falls open a tiny bit, before he snaps it shut and drops his biscuit back on his tray. Scraping his chair back, Eric gets up and throws away his trash goes over to where Rachel is sitting. Lardo and Ransom are glaring at Jack, who feels his ears burn with embarrassment. Another tech comes in and leads Eric out and back to the unit, and Jack feels guilty.

“Nice one, Jack,” Lardo says.

“He was trying to help,” Holster mutters and stabs at the eggs. He eventually puts them in his mouth, but only after stabbing them to the point where he has to eat them with his grapefruit spoon.

Ransom shakes his head. “Could’ve done it without calling Bitty out specifically, bro.”

Jack closes his eyes and sighs. “Really. Bitty?”

Shitty stops his conversation with the guy at the table behind them to grin and high-five Ransom. Ransom sits back looking satisfied. “It’s a 'swawesome nickname.”

Lardo and Holster both nod their heads sagely and Jack rolls his eyes and picks at his own eggs, feeling guilt biting at the edges of his stomach now.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beacon Unit, aka Samwell Men's Hockey Team, is finally all together. It's time to talk about feelings!
> 
> *1/26/17 hey guys!! Thank you for all the kinds words and support!! This was a good comfort right after my inpatient, but now I'm back in the real world, and the real world does not give you a lot of time to write :/   
> You guys stay strong and don't be afraid to reach out.  
>  
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: REFERENCES TO PANIC ATTACKS, MENTIONS OF THROWING UP, EATING DISORDERS, SELF-HARM, MENTIONS OF ATTEMPTED SUICIDES, SCHIZOPHRENIA AND HEARING THINGS, REFERENCES TO DRUG USE, DRUG WITHDRAWAL, DISSOCIATION, INTERNALIZED HOMOPHOBIA, DIRECT HOMOPHOBIA (details in notes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: REFERENCES TO PANIC ATTACKS, MENTIONS OF THROWING UP, EATING DISORDERS, SELF-HARM, MENTIONS OF ATTEMPTED SUICIDES, SCHIZOPHRENIA AND HEARING THINGS, REFERENCES TO DRUG USE, DRUG WITHDRAWAL, DISSOCIATION, INTERNALIZED HOMOPHOBIA, DIRECT HOMOPHOBIA (one sentence near end of chapter that directly uses religion to justify homophobia)
> 
> This chapter is heavy. And I mean it. This is heavy shit, y'all.  
> Please don't read if any of the above or anything mentioning them or relating to them makes you uncomfortable.  
> Basically my thought when I sat down was to introduce all the main characters (except one hahahahaa) and have them explain their illness themselves. What better way than a group therapy session!  
> I basically sat down at 6:30pm to watch hockey, got distracted thinking about this, and mashed out 13 pages over ten hours, christ.
> 
> Anyway my chapterly note reminder for everyone to stay safe and healthy! Y'all are brave souls too and stronger than you think, so try and think past your dark thoughts. Look ahead and keep going, flowers. You can do it.

Eric follows the tech Rachel had called down back to the unit, and sits on his bed while he stares at the floor.

He slides his legs under the multiple blankets on the bed, and lays his head on his pillow.

The bed feels as though wire is cutting into his body, and the pillow is as thick as a towel. Bitty grips the pillow with both hands to keep his hands busy and tries not to cry.

It’s not Jack’s fault, really. It’s the fact that he’s been told by his own father, whom Eric has referred to as Coach since turning five, to bulk up. Eric’s been told every possible way you could think to get bigger and taller, and that no one respected him at five foot six; especially when his muscles weren’t large and bulky like one of Coach’s football players. Eric figure skated up until the end of his sophomore year of high school, and it made him a prime candidate for football boys bigger than him to throw insults and sometimes punches.

There’s a hesitant knock at the door and Eric lifts his head, suddenly aware of tears on his cheeks and wet pools on his pillow.

“Eric?” Jack opens the door slightly.

Sniffling, Eric pulls the blankets off to sit up in bed, cross-legged. He doesn’t say a word as Jack sits in his bed across the room. They stare at each other for a moment before Jack breaks the silence by clearing his throat and scratching awkwardly at his neck.

“I, um, didn’t-” he begins, his words stilted.  He sighs and drops his hands in his lap. “That was pretty awful for me to call you out like that at breakfast.”

Eric draws a finger up and down his legs, while staring at Jack not entirely sure what to say in return.

Jack turns his head to stare out their window between the two beds. “You don’t have to forgive me or accept my apology. Obviously I hurt your feelings, and I’m,” he pauses and takes a deep breath before turning to look Eric in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Eric automatically replies, still not sure how to respond to Jack’s apologetic manner.

“It’s really not,” Jack mutters and rubs at his face.

“I just,” Eric trails off and looks down at his hands to make sure they stay in his lap. “It's not your fault. It's all me; I have a lot of problems, Jack. Like stuff I don’t even realize that hurts until someone says something.”

Jack frowns. “Well you should talk about.”

Chucking bitterly, Eric leans against the wall so he’s no longer sitting ramrod straight. “I wouldn’t know what to say,” he begins and sighs. “There’s much that’s happened to me and a lot of it I haven't even said aloud to myself yet, so I’m not so sure how to even start the conversation.”

There’s a three knocks on the door and a new tech Eric hasn’t met yet sticks their head into the room. “Five minutes until group, guys!” He leaves as fast as he comes.

Jack slaps the bed and stands up. “Perfect. Group is a great place to talk.”

Eric stays frozen sitting on the bed. “Group?”

“Yeah group therapy. Half the unit does group therapy and then the other half goes after us. Our group is you, me, Lardo, Holster, Ransom, and some of the new guys they brought in this morning. We used to have Camilla, but she, uh, switched groups.” Jack rubs at the back of neck awkwardly and goes toward the door.

Still sitting in the bed, Eric can feel a bubble in his chest expanding and his hands feel numb. “That’s okay,” he says weakly. “I’ll just go tomorrow.”

Jack turns back around and frowns, his brow furrowing. “Bittle, you already missed last night’s session. You should come to today’s.”

The room starts to spin and Eric shuts his eyes. “I can’t talk in front of everyone, Jack. I really can’t.”

A warm hand is grasping Eric’s wrist and he immediately opens his eyes and stares at Jack’s hand. The warmth leeches into his cold arms and Eric wants to cry that someone’s willingly holding his wrist with scars and fresh scratches, and Jack’s face is anything but disgusted. It’s open and comforting, like Jack wishes he could help Eric by just holding him.

“You don’t even have to speak,” Jack says in a hushed tone, “you can just sit next to me, and if it gets too much we can leave, okay?”

Jack’s face is so earnest, that after a moment or two Eric nods. The bubble in his chest has shrunk down to a manageable size for the moment, but it’s been replaced by fluttering that he attempts to squash down and refuses to look into the cause of it.

If there’s one thing Eric cannot talk about, especially to Jack, it’s that deep fear inside of him. The one he’s afraid to touch buried deep in his chest. It’s locked away and kept tight, but Eric can feel it loosening for Jack, and Lord if it gets out, well. Eric might not be able to live another day.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack finally gets Eric to come to their group therapy and they wait with Lardo and Ransom in the chairs near the back of the dayroom.

Lardo looks around. “Dude, I never see you without Holster. Where is he?”

Ransom pales and clears his throat. “Bathroom.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. Lardo gives him an unimpressed look. She closes her eyes and takes a measured breath. “Do you know what he’s doing in the bathroom, Justin Oluransi?”

Turning back to Ransom, Jack thinks it could either be Lardo calling Ransom by his full name with such authority, or Ransom’s own guilt that makes him break.

Ransom’s face is paler than any of them have seen and beads of sweat have gathered at his hairline. His hands are shaking. “I can’t go in there, Lardo.”

“I’ll get the nurse,” Lardo says before making a run to the nurse’s station. She reaches them and barely speaks before two nurses run to Ransom and Holster’s room and Lardo hangs outside the doorway listening.

Frowning, Eric turns to Jack. “Is he okay?”

Internally, Jack battles whether or not to tell Eric. In the end, he decides. “It’s his decision to tell you. It’s not fun for people to talk about your diagnosis behind your back.”

“Jack distract me,” Ransom butts in and seizes Eric and Jack’s sleeves with his shaking hands. “I don’t wanna think about what’s going on in that bathroom.”

“They’ll clean it thoroughly during psych time like they always do, Rans,” Jack says and pats Ransom on the back hesitantly.

“No, seriously,” Ransom deadpans. “I need to think about anything other than that bathroom right now, Jack Zimmermann. Never, never, never, never, never mention that bathroom to me again.”

Eric turns away from Ransom and looks towards the front door. “There’s your distraction. Two people even newer than me.”

Ransom whirls around towards the door at the same time Jack turns his head. They’re both young men, around the same age. One of them has bright red hair and is scanning the dayroom with wild eyes, while the other one is an Asian wearing a San Jose Sharks hoodie and takes in everything with awe.

Eric clutches at his face. “They look so young! Should we go and say hi?”

Jack debates for a moment, but before any of them can take a step the nurses lead Holster out of his room. Ransom stands for a moment looking torn between going to help his friend, and wanting to flee even further away.

Holster is just as pale as Ransom had been earlier, but his legs are shaking and the nurses are shoving two cups of water into his hands. One of the nurses, Anika, pokes him in the arm to get his attention.

“The next time you ever feel the urge to do that again, come to one of us immediately. Whether you’re nauseous or just have the urge, we can help you Adam. Okay?” Anika looks up at him, and Holster gives a wan smile. “Good, drink both of these cups before you leave. If you pass out from dehydration I will be very upset.”

Ransom hovers around the nurses holding his hands to his chest. “Is he okay?”

Anika turns to Ransom and smiles. “Yes, he’s okay. He'd already washed his face and hands when we got in there, and we made him brush his teeth. Twice.”

Ransom immediately relaxes and tentatively puts a hand on Holster’s shoulders.

There’s a tap on Jack’s back and he turns around to find one of the newer patients staring up at him.

The younger guy with red hair with the wild eyes is covering his ears and looking pained. “Do you hear any of that?” He whispers quietly to Jack.

Jack pauses and listens, but doesn’t hear anything but soft pieces of conversations around the room. “The talking?” He asks.

The guy shakes his head. “No, no. There’s music and no one will turn it off. I keep asking and they all give me weird looks.”

Hesitating, Jack looks around. Eric’s standing to the side of the room talking to Lardo with Ransom and Holster, as Holster chugs cup after cup of water, and the other new guy is talking excitedly to a nurse, but other than that no one else is about.

“Who’s giving you weird looks?” Jack asks and gestures to the chair next to him, so they can sit.

He shakes his head wildly. “I don’t know them. They just keep looking at me.”

It’s all starting to fit together now, and this isn’t the first person Jack’s met who has heard noises and seen inexplicable figures. “What’s your name?”

The younger man seems to straighten up at the question. He doesn’t move his hands from his ears, but he whispers to Jack anyway. “Will.”

“Okay, Will,” Jack starts, very softly aware that the smallest thing might upset him. “Do you have any medication you’re supposed to take today?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know…” Will mutters and shakes his head. Jack catches Anika’s eye as she’s walking away from Holster and nods toward Will. Immediately, she understands what’s happening.

“Hi, Will,” Anika says in a hushed voice as she crouches next to him. “What’s going on?”

Two people seems to be two too many for Will because he stands and finally takes his hands from his ears. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER THE MUSIC!” he shouts, his face turning red. Jack and Anika don’t move from their places and stay still.

Anika smiles gently and holds her out. “Why didn’t you tell me? I have your medications your mom brought you that turns off the music, remember?”

At the word “mother”, Will’s shoulders droop. He clasps his hands back over his ears and nods. He follows Anika toward the Med room and Jack stands back up.

Everyone is still standing by the window, but they’re all staring at Jack.

Holster whistles. “You handled that pretty well.”

“Not sure I would have stayed that calm if a schizo yelled in my face,” Ransom shivers.

Jack glares. “We don’t know his diagnosis, Ransom. All you saw were psychosis symptoms, which could mean anything. He could be like Shitty, for all we know.”

There’s a moment of pause before Ransom drops his head in shame. “Bro, that was super shitty of me. My bad.”

Lardo sips at her coffee, _“When did she get that?”_ Jack wonders briefly, and shakes her head. “Nah, Shitty wouldn’t have said something like that.”

Holster offers his fist to Lardo, who returns the fist bump without looking. “Yeah, Rans. Don’t use Shitty’s name in vain.”

Jack snorts and Lardo grins back at him. “Saint Shitty,” she says and they all burst into giggles.

“Alright! Beacon group 1 in the therapy room!” Rachel calls from the doors.

They walk over together to the therapy room through the door Rachel holds open. A nurse leads Will in by the elbow and the other new patient follows them out of curiosity.

A small, dark skinned woman sits in a chair underneath a whiteboard. Her braids are wrapped into a scarf piled on her head, and she’s dressed in an intimidatingly professional manner, yet still smiles softly when everyone walks in. Jack finds a seat on the wall facing the door and Eric sits on one side, while Lardo sits on the other.

“Good morning, everyone,” the woman's voice rings out clear and gentle. Everyone chimes back in unison.

“I see we have some new faces, so I’ll begin with my introduction,” she begins. She places the clipboard that had been sitting in her lap down as well, as a radio she normally keeps on her belt , on the floor to look around the room. “My name is Doctor Olive Page, and you can refer to me as Page, if you don’t mind!” She clasps her hands together and smiles widely. “I have check-in sheet sitting on the table in the middle of the room for everyone, and the pencils are in that box right next to it. Everyone please grab one sheet, fill it out, and bring it up to me!”

Jack gets up and grabs a sheet for himself, and out of the corner of his eye notices Eric glued in his seat, a look of apprehension on his face. Jack grabs an extra paper and two pencils and makes his way back to his seat.

“Oh,” Eric breathes in surprise when Jack passes him a paper and pencil. “Thank you, Jack.” He rubs at his cheek self-consciously and turns down to read the paper and Jack feels something light in his chest at Eric’s small blush. He pushes that feeling back down to examine later, and fills out his check-in sheet.

Jack checks off his mood as: cheerful and anxious, rating his anxiety at a four out of ten. He reports no physical symptoms and checks through the sheet to make sure all his answers sound more upbeat than he feels.

Once everyone is finished, Lardo takes all their papers back to Page in the front of the room.

Page thanks her and starts shuffling the papers around. “So, here’s how this works! I’m going to choose a paper randomly and we’re gonna have a little check-in time. Anything you’d like to process through today with me that you’re comfortable sharing with the group is okay.” Her smile disappears and she eyes them all with a firm gaze. “What is mentioned in here, stays in here. We do not talk about what someone else has processed and we do not assume diagnoses, got it?”

After stilted murmurs of compliance, Page closes her eyes and starts lightly flipping through the pages. Jack sees Eric tense up as she randomly chooses which page to read, and softly touches his knee to Eric’s in assurance.

“Holster!” Page finally says. She grabs her clipboard off the ground and places Holster’s sheet in her lap and begins writing on her clipboard. “Want to give the standard ‘ole introduction and then we’ll begin?”

Holster shrugs. “Sure.” He smiles brilliantly and begins in a loud voice. “My name’s Adam Birkholtz, but only my parents and Ransom whenever he’s mad call me that. Call me Holster, and I’m," he pauses and then steels himself to speak again. "I'm here for Anorexia and bulimia.” He rushes the last part as his smile shifts slightly and he sits back in his chair. Ransom pats his arm and Jack hears a whispered “brave, bro.”

Page smiles her soft smile and looks back up at Holster. “Anything you’d like to process today Holster?”

There’s a pause as Holster debates with himself and bites the inside of his cheek. Finally, his shoulders slump and he rubs his jaw. “Yeah, a few things actually.”

“You can start whenever you’re ready. We’re all here to support and listen to you, no interruptions and I’ll only ask questions if you pause or look to me for answer, okay?”

Nodding, Holster sits back up in his chair, his face serious. “I know I haven’t been very, like, talkative? I guess, about my issues. It’s hard for people to imagine someone as tall and big as me to have problems with food? But I do, and I’m still trying to come to terms with it.”

“Would you say you’ve been denying it?” Page asks, her hand coming to a stop mid-sentence on her clipboard.

“Eh,” Holster wiggles his hand in a gesture to match his words. “Some days, I can eat and think I’m okay. Other days, like this morning I just get hit with these thoughts? Like they’re not mine I think Ransom called them...”

“Intrusive thoughts,” Ransom finished and Holster nodded.

“Yeah, I just get these thoughts that I need to stop eating, so I can look a certain way, you know? I’ve been an athlete my whole life and seeing how other guys look,” Holster trails off and looks down at his own hands. “It fucks you up looking at how someone else looks and then looking at yourself and seeing something totally different from what everyone else tells you. Like everyone used to tell me how ‘strong’ I was, but I never felt strong enough and always pushed myself harder and harder.”

“And that’s how you hurt your knee and had to quit hockey right before college, correct? You mentioned that a couple days ago.” Page recounts.

“Yeah,” Holster affirms. “I guess I’m still kind of going through that. Not seeing what everyone else sees?”

Page picks up his sheet from her lap and reads down it. “Did you throw up this morning?”

The room is silent. Holster nods just barely, but Page sees it in time and nods back. “And how can I help you, Holster? Is there anything you want me to do for you today?”

Holster shakes his head slowly.

“How about we do our normal one-on-one therapy later today, and today I’ll bring in both the psychiatrist and the nutritionist. See what they can do for you? We want to help you, Holster. You shouldn’t suffer through this alone.”

Ransom grips Holster’s arm. “That sounds good,” Holster says slowly.

“Good.” Page smiles and makes a short note on her paper. “Thank you for sharing, Holster.”

Holster lets out a breath like he’d been holding it all morning. Eric smiles encouragingly at him from across the room.

“Alright! Lardo?” Page calls. “Introduction and anything you’d like to process today?”

Lardo sighs and uncrosses her legs to take a look around the room. “Sup. Name’s Larissa Duan, but don’t call me that. I go by Lardo and I’m depressed.”

There’s a pause as Page waits for her to go on, but when Lardo crosses her arms and looks pointedly at Page, she clears her throat. “Nothing to process, Lardo?”

“Nope,” Lardo replied.

“Can I ask you a few questions then?”

“Shoot.”

Page looks down at Lardo’s sheet raises an eyebrow, foregoing her own clipboard scribbles. “You drew a picture of a bear on top of the questions?”

“Isn’t it ‘swawesome?” Lardo snickers. Jack turns to give her a questioning look, and she winks at him.

“If you’re not going to fill out the sheet, I’ll have to ask you the questions aloud, Lardo.” Page warns.

“Fire away, Doc.” She swings her legs around so they’re hanging off the side of the chair and over Jack’s lap. He takes his hands out from under her calves, and rests them lightly on top of her sweatpants.

“Describe your mood this morning,” Page begins.

Lardo sighs loudly. “Lonely.”

“Rate your anxiety and depression on a scale from one to ten, ten being the worst you’ve ever experienced.”

“Anxiety a 10, depression a 10.”

“Are you in any pain? How did you sleep last night?”

Lardo tips her head back and begins to sob. Ransom and Holster whip their heads to look over at her from across the room, and Jack holds her legs in the most comforting way he can. Eric wraps a hand around her calf.

After wailing for a minute, Lardo calms down enough to answer. “I feel as though my entire body is being crushed by sadness, Page. I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

“Can you tell us why?” Page leans forward in her chair, confused.

“Well, my best friend in the whole world—sorry boys—is being kept from me. I’m so lonely and none of these men can fill the hole my heart.” She sniffs dramatically and throws an arm across her face.

Page leans back and pinches the bridge of her nose. She takes several deep breaths and finally looks back at Lardo, her face unamused. “I’ll get Shitty transferred by tonight.”

Immediately, Lardo sits back up in her chair correctly and wipes at the tears on cheeks. “You rock, Doc.”

Rolling her eyes, Page picks the next paper. “Christopher Chow? Am I saying that correctly?”

The new patient next to Holster in the San Jose Sharks hoodie nods fervently. “Yes!”

“Would you like to introduce yourself?”

Nodding, he stands up so fast he almost knocks his chair backwards. “My name is Chris Chow, but everyone back home calls me Chowder! I’m here because I suffer from depression too and I tried to kill myself last week!”

Everyone freezes at his excited tone. Jack looks to Lardo who’s eyes are wide.

“Do you want to process your suicide attempt, Chowder?”

Chowder sat back down and started fiddling with his hoodie strings. “Oh yeah! I mean, I woke up one day just exhausted, like way more than normal? It was weird, and my mom’s therapist that she makes me see always tells me I use my cheerful and optimistic personality to hide how I actually feel and I guess that was true? I’m so happy all the time, but I like being happy! If I stop being happy, then I get really, really sad and that’s what happened last week.”

Page writes furiously across her clipboard. “Do you want to process how the rest of the day went when you attempted suicide?”

Chowder thinks for a moment and shakes his head vigorously. “No, it’s too sad. I don’t want anyone here to get sad.”

Page stops writing and looks over at Chowder. “You’re how old again?”

Chowder smiles. “Almost eighteen!”

“So your parents committed you here?”

“Yeah! My mom came here when you guys opened years and years ago when she was in college! Even though we live in California, she told my dad that she wanted me here compared to any other hospital on the West coast.”

Nodding, Page writes one more note on her clipboard. “Anything else you want to process today?”

“I’m okay! That actually felt really good to get off my chest, like saying it all out loud?” Chowder stops fiddling with his hoodie strings to rub his hands up and down his thighs.

“Yes, even just talking about things you already know to be true can be cathartic! You don’t need to delve too deep into your emotions if you’re not ready. Simply talking to me about how you got here or something that happened to you in the past can take away a lot of weight off your shoulders.” Page smiles and looks around the room once more. Jack could swear she glares for a moment at Lardo for not actually discussing anything relevant today. “Ransom, how are you doing?”

At hearing his name, Ransom looks up from where he’d been picking at his fingers. “Fine.”

Page shook her head and mouthed “introduction” and Ransom sat up straight.

“Um. I’m Justin, but I prefer Ransom. I have OCD and anxiety.” He says looking around the room at the two unfamiliar faces. As he finishes, the door opens and someone else none of them recognize walks in. He’s about Chowder’s age, but with dark skin and curly hair. He’s shaking so hard he can barely sit in the chair and Chowder quietly gets up and hands him a pencil and sheet to fill out.

“Anyway, uh,” Ransom tries to start again. “I want to kind of process through my problem with germs?”

Page nods for him to continue as she begins writing.

“The psychiatrist keeps calling it OCD, but it doesn’t feel like a problem enough to call it that, you know?”

Page pauses and puts her pen down. “Ransom, you shower _at least_ three times a day, have to count to thirty every time you wash your hands, get into bed and back out before you can actually get into bed to sleep, and you count your steps when you’re walking and get frustrated if someone interrupts you.”

Holster chimes in. “Not to mention if he says the word never, he has to say it five times.”

Ransom narrows his eyes and glares at both of them. “That’s not what I’m talking about! I’m talking about my fear of germs. How I couldn’t even go into the bathroom this morning to help you when you threw up because all I could think of was how dirty vomit is?”

“Ransom, you have mysophobia and it can stem from your OCD and Holster understands that.” Page nods to Holster who turns to Ransom and nods vigorously in response.

“I still feel bad,” Ransom sighs. “I’ve always wanted to be a doctor and then out of nowhere freshman year of college I couldn’t touch door handles without at least five tissues.”

“We’re working through this, Ransom,” Page assures. “But it takes time. You’ve only been here for five days and we’re seeing improvements, but most of the results are going to be seen once you go into your intensive outpatient program. You’re here now to be monitored for your anxiety and for medication adjustments, so we can see which antidepressants work well on your OCD, okay? It’ll take more than five days.”

Ransom nods and Holster pats him on the back. Page smiles and gestures to them. “When you got here, you didn’t let anyone touch you. You made the nurses put on three pairs of gloves and cover themselves with disinfectant to perform your physical, and you let Holster just casually touch you! I’m already seeing big strides, Ransom. You’ll get to a point one day where you won’t even think about those germs. One day, I promise.”

A small smile crosses Ransom’s lips and he nods. “Okay, I’m all good.”

Page flips through her pages again and Eric fidgets with his sleeves, getting more and more anxious. “How about you, Will?”

Will looks up from where he’d been tracing a pattern on the fabric chair he’d been sitting on next to Chowder. “Me?”

“Want to introduce yourself to the group?”

He shakes his head. “If I say it, then everyone will think I’m crazy.”

“You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to, but this is a safe space. All of us are here to support you, and none of this leaves this room. Anything you say in here will only be said outside this room if _you_ choose to say it, okay?”

“Okay,” Will nods and looks around the room slowly. His mouth is slower around words than earlier when he had talked to Jack, and Jack assumes that his medication is kicking in.

“My name is Will Poindexter. I’m from Maine and I like to fix things.” He nods a couple times and takes a deep breath. “And I have schizophrenia.”

Page nods encouragingly. “Thank you for sharing, Will. That was very brave.”

“I don’t want to talk anymore, please.” Will begs, his eyes trained on a spot on the wall just behind Eric.

“That’s okay. We hope you’d like to share tomorrow,” Page adds gently. She turns to the new patient and smiles. “Can I get your sheet? Your one my new ones, Derek Nurse, right?”

“Yeah,” Derek says hoarsely. “Can you come and get it? I’m afraid to walk.”

Ransom, who’s sitting directly next to him, takes his paper and hands it to Page. She looks at Derek curiously. “Why are you afraid to walk?”

Derek laughed bitterly. “My entire body’s shaking, man. If I stand up too fast, my heart rate can spike. I have a tank of oxygen attacked to my damn wheelchair waiting outside the door.”

Page nods and writes. “Are you comfortable sharing what happened?”

“It’s pretty obvious,” Derek scoffs. His face is pale and he keeps wiping his nose on his shirt sleeve. “About a day and a half ago, I overdosed on heroin. I’m a junky who needs drugs to feel anything, and I almost died and inconvenienced everyone. My parents dumped me here and basically told you guys keep me as long as you need, since they gotta keep me out of their hair somehow. If I’m not at boarding school causing trouble, then I’m home getting high.” He’s breathing angrily by the end of his small tirade and he starts to wheeze slightly with every inhale.

“You’re only thirty-six hours into detox?” Page asks, her face alarmed. “Derek you should be in the hospital until it’s been at least three days. You might have complications from your overdose.”

Derek shakes his head. “My parents had to leave and didn’t have anyone to watch a minor in the hospital, so they dumped me here since you guys can monitor me 24/7 or whatever.” He waves his hand and sits back in his chair and takes slow, measured breaths. “I’m done.”

Page looks concerned, but instead she scribbles onto his paper and grabs the next one. She pauses and watches Eric for a moment.

“Eric? Are you okay?”

Jack had been watching Derek; he hadn’t seen Eric begin to scratch at his right wrist, the one with no recent cuts. Jack’s hand immediately shoots out to grab at Eric’s left hand to get him to stop, and Eric stares at his wrist, not seeming to comprehend what he’d done.

“Do you want to talk about what that was?” Page asks gently, setting her pen down to search Eric’s face.

Not seeming to hear her question, Eric turns his head and sees everyone staring and registers that it’s his turn to process and immediately sits up, still holding Jack’s hand. “I’m Eric Bittle and I’m not entirely sure why I’m here.”

He blinks and slides back down in his chair and Jack looks at Page, who’s watching him sympathetically.

“Do you know where you are, Eric?”

The question seems to cause his entire body to freeze. Jack can swear Eric’s hand goes cold at the question, and only Eric’s eyes are moving as he tries to remember.

“No, no. I know this one. I’m in…” Eric’s voice trails off and he shakes his head as if willing himself to remember.

“Boston,” Jack whispers quietly, and Eric pulls his hand from Jack to clap his hands together.

“Yes! I’m in Boston at Boston Springs! Oh my goodness, I must have dozed off there I couldn’t remember where I was. Yesterday morning, I was sleeping in my own bed in Georgia, and now, well, you know where I am.” Eric takes a deep breath and gives Page a watery smile.

She shakes her head. “Eric you were awake this whole time. You started scratching while Will was talking. You weren't scratching hard enough to hurt yourself, but you were scratching. I was watching you.”

Ice creeps up Jack’s neck. He hadn’t even looked at Eric, let alone known he’d been hurting himself right there next to him, and in front of everyone.

“Be honest, Eric,” Page says firmly, “How did you feel just before I got your attention back?”

Eric fidgets with his sleeves again. “Um. It sounds so silly.”

“I’ll believe anything, just tell me how you really felt,” Page insists.

“Kind of like I wasn’t here?” Eric says quietly and doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “Like I’d spaced out and out and got out of my own head? Gosh, that sounds so ridiculous.”

Page shakes her head. “It’s not ridiculous. I think you were dissociating, Eric. Has that happened before? Have you been doing something and then found yourself somewhere else, doing something else, or a large amount of time had passed and you didn’t know?”

Eric nods slowly. “I bake a lot back home, and sometimes I’ll find hours and hours have gone by. I’ll have started one thing and then ended up doing something else and not sure what happened in between. Happened a lot in high school too, I barely remember half my junior year.” He gives a small laugh, but it sounds so broken to Jack that his chest aches.

“We can help you get through that, Eric. Especially if you decide to see the psychiatrist,” Page suggests. “There are medications and therapies that can help you with that. We can also go over your treatment plan and diagnosis. Your former therapist sent your hospital records over here yesterday, so we can try to help you the best we can.”

“Wait, wait,” Eric shook his head. “I haven’t been to a hospital since I broke my arm in the sixth grade. Why do you need my hospital records?”

Page paused and looked up at him worriedly. “Eric, we can talk about that privately after group. I can’t discuss hospital records aloud with other patients in the room.” Eric nods and starts to pick at his fingernails, looking away from Page with a confused look on his face.

“Jack?”

“Oh, um.” Jack cleared his throat. “Jack Zimmermann, uh, I’m here for anxiety and overusing my anxiety medication.”

Page puts his check-in sheet down and sighs. “This isn’t a test you have to pass, Jack,” she begins, frustrated.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean; you answer the same answers every day. The past six days I have your papers where you wrote you were feeling cheerful and your anxiety was at a four. You won’t get out any sooner just because you tell us you feel fine.” Page shakes her head and leans back in her chair to look him in the eye.

Jack can feel his hands start to shake with anger and he tries to keep his voice even. “Then tell me how I can get out of here.”

Page’s frustration seems to leak out of here and she looks defeated. “I need to see some improvement in you, Jack. All I see is you taking your medications, and avoiding talking about how you feel. That’s all fine, but this is your second time in a rehabilitation center for overuse of prescription pills. We need to see a change in you.”

“I’ve changed,” Jack remarks defensively.

“Show me then,” Page shoots right back. “I have your last therapists notes from where you went in Montreal? You’re acting the same way here that you did there. When’s the last time you saw a therapist since you got to college?”

Feeling uncomfortable, Jack looks away. Guilt rips at his chest, knowing the appointment his mother had written down on a card for him had been immediately thrown in the trash.

“You don’t need to be better, Jack,” Page says. “But you need to stop locking down your feelings. I want to see you feel something, before I’ll even think about discharging you. If it takes another month or two and you miss the season opener at your school, it’s fine by me! This is your choice. Stop trying to glide through rehab; try and work through your issues while you’re here.”

Jack hangs his head and rubs tiredly at his neck. He nods and Page seems satisfied with that. “Alright, closing group at 7pm is about psych-education! Come only if you’re willing to listen, learn, and apply these lessons to your life to make it more manageable! Thank you guys, it was nice to meet and actually hear from everyone today.” Page stacks their papers together and gathers their pencils while they all walk out. Derek leaves first when a tech brings his wheelchair inside, so he doesn’t have to walk further.

Eric stays behind to talk to Page and Jack loiters in the hallway with Lardo, Ransom, and Holster as the door to the room shuts behind them.

“Doctor time,” Lardo mutters. They all groan at the thought of sitting their fifteen minutes with Dr. Farver, a gruff, old man who really only cared how you felt physically. Directly after group is when the psychiatrist comes in to meet with them one at a time. You only get to see the psychiatrist if you go to group, but not seeing the psychiatrist means you don’t get your meds adjusted if they're not working for you.

Jack turns his head toward to the closed door. “Wonder what they’re talking about.” He turns back to find everyone smirking at him. “What?”

Lardo pats his arm. “It hasn't even been a whole day, dude. You’ve got it bad.”

“No I don’t,” Jack protests, his face flushing slightly.

“Bro, you were holding his hand in there,” Holster teases.

“It was cute, bro,” Ransom chimes in.

“You know that wasn’t why I was holding his hand,” Jack rolls his eyes. “Besides he’s…not in a good mindset right now. And a hospital’s not a place to get a crush, I’ve told you this before with Camilla. I'm here to get better. He’s my roommate and I feel bad more him. That’s it.”

“Whatever you say, man,” Lardo shurgs.

“Hey, go check if Shitty’s been moved yet,” Jack reminds her and without another word, Lardo is halfway down the hall before Holster and Ransom have realized she left.

“Dude that trick she pulled on Page?” Ransom elbows Holster.

“Beautifully executed. I believed it for a moment. I give the drama of it ten out of ten, and Page’s realization as to what she was hinting at like a twelve out of ten.”

Ransom frowns. “You can’t go higher than ten, bro. That’s why it’s a scale _out_ of ten.”

“Dude, no. See higher than ten is like, exceeds expectations,” Holster argues.

Jack shakes his head, smiling. “How about you guys get in line to see the psych, and I’ll just wait for Eric?”

Holster grins. “While you wait here for itty Bitty, in this empty hallway?”

“Holster.”

Ransom tugs Holster’s arm. “We’re going. See ya, Jack.”

A tech walks by and sees Jack alone, so he assures him that he’s just waiting for Dr. Page to finish speaking with someone.

“Why don’t you wait for her to come get you?” The tech asks, puzzled.

“She uh said I could wait out here,” Jack lies. “She’s just finishing talking to my roommate.” He adds some truth to make it more believable.

The tech smiles brightly. “Okay! Don’t take too long or the line to the psych will get too long and you’ll have to wait until after lunch.”

Finally, Jack’s alone in the hallway. He takes in a lungful of air and leans against the wall and thinks about what Page told him.

It is his second time in the hospital. And for the same thing he did last time, too. He tries to remember what his last therapist had said about coping skills and see where he went wrong. He did the breathing exercises, but that could only go so far in a major panic attack. Jack went for runs when he was stressed, and he likes to play hockey. But Page had reminded him last week that those aren't relaxing activities when hockey is ultimately his career.

“You need something to do that doesn’t add stress to your life, Jack,” Page had said the second day he’d gotten here. Jack tries to think of something he does that doesn’t add stress, but he comes up empty.

The door to the therapy room slams open making Jack jump and there’s a muffled shout from inside. Eric’s standing there for a moment, looking confused as to where to go, before he starts running.

“Eric!” Page shouts after him and looks at her belt for her radio. Jack remembers watching her place it on the floor before their session began.

“Let me go get him,” Jack says calmly, as Page continues patting herself down looking for her radio. “He’s a little calmer when I’m around.”

Page nods and frantically waves him away. “Go, now! I think he wants to leave. I'm scared he might hurt himself!"

Jack sprints down the hallway Eric had run through. He runs past both Coolidge and Chestnut units looking around. He slows to a jog knowing there’s a locked door ahead and strains his ears to catch any sound of Eric. He hears feet approaching the corner and he jogs forward.

A tech walks by and Jack stops. “Did you see a blonde guy run through here? About this high,” he gestures to his neck to shower where Eric comes up to, “he was probably upset?”

The tech furrows her brow and tilts her head in confusion. “I saw a blonde man about that height ask very politely to go outside and that he missed the call for smoke break because he was talking to his therapist?”

Jack’s heart thumps loudly in his ears. “He’s trying to leave; he might hurt himself.”

The technician pales and runs back towards the door she came out of and Jack follows her. The door leads downstairs to where a long hallway splits into two sections, one toward the yard and cafeteria, and one toward the front entrance and offices.

“You take the offices, I’ll take the yard,” Jack commands and runs toward the yard entrance, not bothering to see if the tech followed his orders.

When he gets to the door to the yard, he sees Rachel standing just past it outside. He doesn’t see Eric, but he knocks frantically to get her attention. She looks up, confused, but opens the door regardless.

“Jack? What’s wrong?” Rachel asks, watching him try to catch his breath.

“Did Eric come out here?”

Rachel nods. “He’s over by the maple tree on the other end, I’m keeping an eye on him.”

Jack looks toward the tree and sees Eric sitting there, his elbows resting on his thighs as he looks at his hands with wide eyes. Walking slowly, Jack approaches Eric with caution. When Jack’s within reach of him, he sits down across from him and waits.

“Did you know I was in the hospital just four days ago and I forgot?” Eric asks, his voice perfectly normal.

Jack shakes his head. He lets Eric continue to talk.

Looking up from his hands, Eric stares at Jack with such clear eyes, not anything like the fuzzy, confused eyes he’s had since he got here.

“I swallowed what was left of a bottle of Xanax. Lined the pills up and took them one by one. Must a been about twenty pills? I think my Mama found me,” he trails off and starts ripping grass out of the ground.

“What happened?” Jack says, his voice hushed and gentle.

“I must a been out for a day. I woke up and Mama was crying and said they pumped my stomach, but were afraid I wasn’t going to wake up.” Eric shrugs and starts piling the grass he pulled out into small neat piles in front of him. “Coach wasn’t happy though. Maybe it was his way of showing love or maybe he thought I was weak, God knows. He got real mad and took me home that day when they cleared me, and made me see my mama’s therapist the day before I got here. He said it was therapist or psych ward, and I really didn't want to leave.”

Jack waits as Eric looks back down at his hands for a moment. Finally, he closes them into fists, and makes eye contact with Jack.

“That therapist told me that I was a repressed homosexual and that God was punishing me by making my head sick.”

Jack flinches and feels his stomach turn.

“I got home and Mama said the therapist called and said I needed to be sent away. And, I just remember getting so angry. I still can’t remember this part. All I know is I’m in my room later that night and Mama’s packing my clothes into a bag and she has a cut on her cheek." Eric pauses to stare blankly into his lap. Finally, he goes on. "I went into the kitchen and Coach was sweeping up a glass vase. I think I must a thrown it and a piece of it got Mama. Next morning, Mama and Coach take me to the airport and give me an address on a piece of paper and tell me to catch a taxi to that address. Tell me that it’ll help and that it’s the best place in the country for people like me.”

A stinging pain makes Jack realizes he’s been curling his hands into fists and his nails had dug crescent moons into his palms. “People like you?” He asks.

“I still don’t know if they meant mentally ill or gay,” Eric laughs bitterly, the sound harsh and angry. “But that’s me. I have a mental illness and I’m gay.”

Eric clasps his hand over his mouth and looks at Jack in horror. “I’m so sorry! You’re my roommate, you shouldn’t be subjected to someone like me. If you want to change rooms, I understand.” His shoulders droop and he rubs at his eyes angrily.

“Eric, hey. Look at me, please,” Jack asks. When Eric finally looks back to him, his eyes are red-tinged.  “I don’t mind. You’re here to get better, being gay doesn’t mean anything.” Jack curses himself as Eric’s face falls. “Wait no, _crisse_. I meant to say that it’s okay. There’s people of all kinds of sexuality and gender here, Eric. It doesn’t matter, because you’re here to get better, not change who you are.”

His dark brown eyes seem to scan every part of him and Jack feels exposed. “You keep saying get better, but you can’t get better, Jack.”

Jack sits back on the heels of his hands and stares back at Eric. “What do you mean?”

Eric shakes his head. “I mean; we’re not going to ever recover? You don’t ever heal from mental illness. It isn’t a broken bone or a cold.”

Leaning forward, Jack keeps Eric’s gaze. “So what do we do?”

It’s like the sun finally broke out from behind the clouds, and every part of Jack to his bones is warmed by Eric’s first genuine smile since he arrived. “Not a clue. Want to figure it out?”

Smiling back, Jack stands and stretches his hand out to help Eric up. "Always up for a challenge, eh?"


End file.
